seven little killers
by sarsaparillia
Summary: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.
1. welcome to bangkok

**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to allergy meds, omg.  
><strong>notes<strong>: Sara breaks her promises to herself _yet again_. so here you go, seven drabbles on the Exwires (even Takara. but I am still_ convinced_ he is a plant. _totally. convinced_).

**chapter title**: welcome to bangkok  
><strong>summary<strong>: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.

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Bon kills without worry.

He is brash and violent and up front about it; he kills without worry because he is without fear. Bon does not fear death. He has faced it before and come out alive. He has made his peace with the fact that one day, he must die.

And so he kills without preamble and without hesitation.

Bon kills with scripture and bullets. He is a strange breed, a cross between the defenceless and the most dangerous players in this little game they call life—Arias and Dragoons have been on the outs for as long as anyone can remember for the simple fact that they consider each other's crafts the lowest common denominator in the Exorcist ranking.

But Bon is different.

He can protect and he can destroy; with a gun over his shoulder and Fatal Verse dripping from his lips, Bon is a thing to behold.

Hair cut buzz-short, he lines a demon up in his sight. It moves fast, too fast, but he holds steady for he does not fear. The recoil from the rifle will send him reeling for precious seconds.

He still doesn't really worry about it.

What he is doing is right. He works to protect the things and the people he loves, and he will never allow that knowledge to forsake him. He is not weak. He will achieve his goal.

He will not hesistate. He will kill and kill and kill. He will kill demons until he no longer knows the colour of his own blood. He will kill until he is so soaked in possessed red that there would never be getting it off. He will kill until he cannot breathe; will kill until the world is free from Satan's taint.

It is a long time from that, still.

Even so, Bon does not slow or stop.

He will not lose his resolve.

Line up, breathe in slow and deep, count down from _three_.

Two…

One…

_Bang_.

Bon kills without worry.

_tbc_.


	2. sowing season

**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to my bed.  
><strong>notes<strong>: nerdfighteria.

**chapter title**: sowing season  
><strong>summary<strong>: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.

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Izumo kills viciously.

She kills with the single-minded intensity of a woman possessed; she kills because she is told to, because she can, because she knows she is doing a service to the world. The things she kills are not human, and she feels no shame as her faithful Byakko bite down deep into a struggling zombie's half-rotted flesh and aim to rip its throat out.

She kills because she can. Because she needs to protect something, though she isn't quite sure what that thing is. Paku? But no, Paku was away from all of this, and safe. She loves Paku to death, and it scares her because _what if_?

So she kills for honour and justice, but never for love because love is unquantifiable. She can't touch love. Can't see it. Love would be her end, she knows, and so she keeps her heart a hard little knot beneath her breast bone.

Izumo kills with her blood and her soul.

She does not need her heart to kill.

_And killing is easy_, Izumo thinks with her teeth clenched, _the more you do it_.

She kills without remorse and without thought, her blood splattered across a summoning circle drawn on a little bit of paper She is a demon-killing priestess, and she kills because it is all she knows.

Mike and Uke curl around her legs.

Izumo touches their fur, the tops of their heads, but only for a second.

She fixes her gaze on the demons in the distance.

She smiles slowly.

"Go on, then. You know what to do," she tells them both.

Mike and Uke's laughter is screeching fox language, and they bound away with great leaps to cross the land. Izumo crosses her arms over her chest and follows, lips stretched across her face in a feral snarl.

She wants to watch them kill everything.

She needs to.

She bites her thumb hard enough to bleed, and she signs her name in devil's ink. She asked for this, and she kills and kills with the knowledge that this is _hers_, that she _did_ this. It is cruel and hilarious.

Blood drips.

_Hear me, God!_

Izumo kills viciously.

_tbc_.


	3. handcuffs

**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to **Sepsis** who is adorable.  
><strong>notes<strong>: can I sleep. please. _please_.

**chapter title**: handcuffs  
><strong>summary<strong>: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.

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Konekomaru kills simply.

With words, of course. It is the simplest of all the meister classes, he thinks, Aria. It is the simplest and the most elegant. He kills without his hands turning red, and he kills without anyone getting hurt. He kills with words and sentences; it is Fatal Verse, times a thousand.

He's the quick-talker of the three of them—Renzou smooth-talks and Bon doesn't talk period, so Konekomaru quick-talks them out of the trouble that they invariably walk into. Aria suits him well. The words are nimble on his tongue, little manipulations of sound spat out from the clench of his throat.

He never stumbles.

Konekomaru kills because if he does not, the people that he loves will die, and this is intolerable. He is physically weak; too weak to kill someone with his hands, too small to rob something of its' life.

And the Bible is a fantastic way to kill some time.

(Always killing something, then.)

It is an arresting thought, heady; that only words alone could commit such a terrible crime. Sometimes, Konekomaru lies on his back and whispers the verse to himself in the dead of night, when no one else is around to hear. He breathes them in and out, kissing the air, and thinks about the splatter of blood; he forgets that he is supposed to be the better man.

He kills without preamble and without fuss, because words are his weapons. He kills, silvertongue and moral. He kills and kills and kills.

If part of his soul drowns in the process, he does not acknowledge it.

"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet—"

The demon screeches.

"—and a light unto my path!"

_Poof_.

Konekomaru kills simply.

_tbc_.


	4. luca

**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: Les, because she loves this perv.  
><strong>notes<strong>: Shima's a crazy mofo in my head, bros.

**chapter title**: luca  
><strong>summary<strong>: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.

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Renzou kills slowly.

There is a savagery in Renzou that is not often seen in the Exorcist recruits. It is an unforgiving violence, brought to light perhaps in part due to his own cowardliness. He kills with exquisite care and detail; elegance is something engrained into every Aria (except perhaps Bon, but then, Bon was also Dragoneer. Renzou has to force his lip to stop from curling up), and killing with it is a simple task.

But Renzou is best with sutras. The sutras, he knows, cause _pain_.

Not death, but _pain_.

And that is what he wants.

Because Renzou has lost so very much, and there is some sick justice in it, in the killing; he can pretend that this is still payback for the Blue Night, all those years ago. He can pretend that he does not enjoy the killing for the sake of the killing, even though really some part of him does.

Well, there was no accounting for taste.

And the killing comes easily to him—sutras to hold the demon in place, K'rik dug into its belly, and he leans close to whisper the Fatal Verse in its ear, mouth low and close with a tiny cruel smile hidden somewhere in the corners.

He kills that way because it's personal.

And if there is one thing that Shima Renzou knows, it's how to be personal.

The killing comes more and more easily every time. It's better, he thinks viciously, to not think of them as human. They don't _look_ human. Don't _act_ human.

But then, he thinks, he doesn't act very human, either.

Renzou kills slowly.


	5. jesus christ

**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: boop de oop.  
><strong>notes<strong>: Mindless Self Indulgence was, is, and always will be hot shit.

**chapter title**: jesus christ  
><strong>summary<strong>: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.

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Rin kills loudly.

He kills often, more than the rest combined (except maybe Takara, but then, no one really knows what goes on behind those squinted eyes—Rin still remembers the forest and the lanterns). The crackle of fire pops in his ears, and he burns as he kills. He sets the world alight and leaves it, slicing through demonic flesh and muscle to leave destruction behind him as he goes, whimsical but dangerous because _Rin does not forgive_.

He is perhaps more compassionate in his killing, because sometimes he can hear what his victims think as they die, and that is not something that anyone should ever have to deal with. So he kills loudly, roaring rage and fire, an accidental arsonist on the loose.

He kills because it's easier than admitting that he still hasn't forgiven himself for his father's death, yet. He kills and it tastes like revenge, edged in pain and the dust of the ages against his tongue.

It should make him sick, but Rin can't bring himself to care.

But the bite of steel through skin still makes him grit his teeth, and the sense of _wrongness_ lingers in his head for a long time after everything around him has turned to ash.

Rin kills because sometimes he thinks he doesn't have a choice.

(He's still trying to atone for sins he never had a say in anyway—Yukio would be proud.)

And he falls from the sky, Kurikara screaming as it slices through the air, and plunges down into bubbled flesh to burst the festering pustules open and set them ablaze.

The explosion shakes a thirty-mile circumference to its core.

He jumps back at the last second. Watches it burn. Spits, bitter. The flames hiss and fizz, and consume everything in their path.

_Snap_.

_Crackle_.

_Pop-pop-__**pop**_!

Rin kills loudly.

_tbc_.


	6. you won't know

**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to **c. e. abyss**, who is quite lovely and asked very nicely for an update.  
><strong>notes<strong>: I really gotta stop writing my papers sorta drunk. that shit can't be healthy.  
><strong>notes2<strong>: basically this a present and now I'm going to quietly die over my history paper. jsyk.

**chapter title**: you won't know  
><strong>summary<strong>: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.

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Shiemi kills gently.

She kills in the old way; poison and paper and lies. She kills to a violin soundtrack of loveliness, to sleep, to ease the suffering of a heart torn to (literal) shreds. She kills with kindness and pollen from plants that have no business existing.

She kills because if she doesn't, someone else will.

And Shiemi knows that as long as there are other people, there will be killing. She is not naïve; she knows that the world is an ugly, ugly place where death is reduced to numbers and faceless flesh-coloured blurs.

It's out of her control. Always has been, always will be.

And so she smooths her hands over the fabric of her skirts, and tries to do what others cannot.

She kills only when there is no hope for the victim.

She kills to stop pain.

Shiemi is the only one among them to have ever killed a human being.

(No one else wanted to do it. It is a good thing Nii-chan understands—it is a good thing that they all understand, and Rin slips an arm around her shoulders after it is done and she is shaking and shaking and something inside her chest has shrivelled because _there is no air_ and she can't _breathe_. Tamer or not, a part of her died the first time she killed a person, and nothing can ever take that away.)

Sometimes it makes her sick with herself, and there is nothing left to do but roll over to her side and vomit herself into exhaustion. When all the killing finally builds up at the back of her throat, and the tears slosh around inside of her, Shiemi knows that the only thing to do is purge it all out.

It hurts.

It always hurts.

But then she holds a girl as she quakes around the hole in her stomach, and Shiemi whispers "_Let her sleep, Nii-chan_."

The poison takes effect. The girl's chest caves in.

She holds a dead girl and cries.

Shiemi kills gently.

_tbc_.


	7. millstone

**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to all you lovers and fuckers reading _The House That Fear Built_. We've been a long way, yeah?  
><strong>notes<strong>: dicks. everything is dicks.  
><strong>skewed-by-headcanon!alert<strong>: until canon tells me different, Takara is the Eighth King. just sayin'.

**chapter title**: millstone  
><strong>summary<strong>: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.

—

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Takara kills silently.

He kills when no one is looking. He is the knife in the dark, the prince playing court jester; he is arsenic slipped into tea on a summer's day. He kills in the dirt and the muck of a back alley, determined that no one will hear the victim scream.

His cover must not be blown.

Not yet, anyway.

He kills because he can, because it is amusing, because there is _joy_ in the simple act of ending a human life. And he is unlike the others—Takara takes no joy in destroying demons. He's done it so often that it's got to the point where it bores him. He knows how to kill demons. They all die the same way.

But humans…

Well, humans are a different story entirely.

Humans die in a splatter of red as his claws shred through their vocal chords. It is a messy way to die, and the killing is all the more exciting for it. Takara kills because he is born of chaos and destruction, and those things work the best behind enemy lines.

And there is a vague affection for these strange little humans that he has learned with and watched for so many days, months, years.

But that would not stop him from killing them, if he had the chance.

His claws curve around a slim throat, and it is the fear that turns him on—yes, he kills for the fear, too, and feeds on it. She is lovely, but she will be lovelier with her blood all over the wall. Takara knows it for a fact.

And he kisses her without knowing her name.

"_No one can hear you_," he says.

She doesn't even have the time to scream.

And then he digs in, and rips out her throat.

Takara kills silently.

_tbc_.


	8. untitled

**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
><strong>dedication<strong>: to Brand New, for being unending inspiration.  
><strong>notes<strong>: I love Paku.

**chapter title**: untitled  
><strong>summary<strong>: I wanna wrap my hands around that pretty neck and squeeze. — Exwires.

—

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Paku doesn't kill.

She is an afterthought, a barely-there. She is a quiet shadow. She is ghost, vapour, smoke. She is memory forgotten, left high-up on a dusty shelf in the middle of winter but then never brought back to the sunlight come spring.

She is, arguably, the most human among them.

Paku is ordinary. She is plain and powerless and _human_. She can only get in the way. She can only be bait. She needs to rely on the others for survival, this she knows.

She is _weak_.

And from that weakness, a uniquely _Paku_ trait springs.

She can sit in the back of the classroom and listen while Yukio-sensei speaks. She can sit there, and not comprehend a word, and still try her very hardest to make things work. Paku is a fixer-upper; she can take the broken things and put them back together.

But she is not a killer.

And so when the world shudders and begins to crumble to pieces, the only thing she can do is clap her hands over her ears and shake. When the world begins to end, the only thing she can do is cling to her best friend's hand and wait it out.

It is in the waiting that she finds herself. The others look to her for calm. They look to her for sanity and for numbness; they look to her to remind themselves that there is a world beyond the fighting and the death and the blood.

Paku takes her protectors hands in hers, and smiles slowly.

They need her.

They need her.

So she breathes in, and refuses to let go even when Shiemi is past the point of panic and Izumo is trembling so hard her whole frame is vibrating. They need her.

She breathes out.

Paku doesn't kill.


End file.
